Lament
by thewandcrafter
Summary: I wrote this five days after we lost Alan Rickman... It's my tribute to him, and something I felt deeply. I hope it helps you cope with the loss of this wonderful man who gave us Severus Snape, even if only because it frees your tears.


Tuesday January 19, 2016

**Lament**  
_(For Alan)_

He felt it.

He felt it as a blow to his chest, as a _Stupefy_… or maybe a _Reducto_. It stunned him, stopped him mid-stride, made him stumble and almost fall to his knees, on his way down the stairs to the main hall, thinking to greet Harry Potter at the doors, rather than have the man surprise him in his office. He'd feel more in control, that way, of what was certain to be, at least, an uncomfortable meeting, he'd thought.

It had been nearly eighteen years - a bit more than seventeen and two thirds, actually - since war's end, and Potter's first son, James, was at school, just back from the Christmas holiday. Potter had sent an owl to say that he would be dropping by - ostensibly to discuss his son's progress.

Snape knew better, of course. He supposed it was unavoidable, now that…

Now that the war was long past… now that there was at least a weak justification for the contact they had both put off for so long. It was an excuse, really - talking about James. He had sighed at the inevitability of it, and straightened his shoulders, resigned to the conversation to come. And then that blow to his chest staggered him, making him clutch the wide, stone banister, lest he fall. His left hand came up to clench at his robes, while his right hand automatically sought his wand, long-unused defensive spells readying themselves in his mind and on his tongue.

But there was no one there, no visible threat… no opponent casting curses.

He cast a nonverbal _Homenum Revelio_, to be sure.

Nothing in response, beyond the reassuring feedback that indicated the presence of students and faculty - no tell-tale red flashes, no warning tingle, no burning smell - nothing. He rubbed at his chest again, the pain sharp and cutting, and wondered if he were having a heart attack. Such things did not usually beset wizardkind, but he was half-blood, and… it had been a hard life. The number of times he had suffered the _Cruciatus_ alone could have created a weakness…

The pain continued, and he half-determined to turn back, to seek out the infirmary and turn himself over to Poppy's good graces and tough, affectionate care. But then the doors opened, and Potter stood on the threshold, his eyes immediately seeking out Snape.

Snape had seen him, of course, over the preceding eighteen years. Potter had been at Ministry events, at fundraisers thrown by the Board of Governors, in the paper for a hundred reasons, the public never losing its appetite for tales of its hero. Snape wondered how Potter tolerated it - being in the limelight so long. The man never seemed to glory in it. If anything, he was self-effacing, deflecting attention as much as he could, never speaking about himself, but only about the causes he supported. Snape begrudgingly came to respect that about Potter. That, and the fact that the man's son never took advantage of his heritage, never bragged about his father that Snape could tell or that the faculty reported. Certainly, he was full of Gryffindor foolishness and mischief, but no more so than others of that House. So Snape reluctantly acknowledged that Potter had not touted his accomplishments even to his own son.

But this Potter stood at the door to the entrance hall, frozen, his face oddly stricken. His hand, too, grasped at his chest, as if he shared the same pain as afflicted Snape. His eyes locked onto Snape's, and he stumbled into the hall, one hand held out in supplication.

_"Severus…"_ he said, his voice shockingly weak.

They met in the middle, and both of them reached out to grasp at the front of each other's robes, as if hanging on… as if reassuring themselves the other was real, was here, was alive.

"Severus," Potter said again, tears streaming down his face.

_"What is it?"_ Snape wanted to ask.

But… though his lips moved, no sound came out. He tried again. To no avail.

"Severus," Potter said again, through his tears, and nearly fell, moving forward to bury his face in Snape's chest. "Oh god… I thought you were… Oh god. Oh god. Snape… I thought you were gone."

_"Whatever made you think that, you silly boy?"_ Snape wanted to say, but again, no sound came from his throat, though he thought he felt breath pass over his vocal cords, through his teeth, out past his lips.

"He's gone. Isn't he?" the boy… man… Potter… said, pulling back to look Snape in the eyes, begging for… something… for Snape to deny what he thought he knew. Bewildered, Snape could only look back. He'd reassure the boy if he could, but he didn't know what on earth the child was on about.

_"Say something!"_ the boy demanded. "Say something!" He beat on Snape's chest with his fists. _"Say something, damn it!"_

_"Potter… what…?"_ Snape said - but again, no voice responded to his call.

Potter's face crumpled. "Oh god. He's gone!" He buried himself against Snape's chest again, shaking in grief, and, without conscious intent, Snape raised his arms to comfort the man.

And then it hit him.

_"No,"_ he thought. _"No. It's too soon. It's far too soon. This shouldn't have happened yet. The magic should have protected him. Love - the strongest magic. He should have had years yet - decades."_ It couldn't be true. It should not be true. It couldn't be.

But it was. He reached out for an ineffable soul-bond, forged years ago, seeking connection, seeking twinship, seeking the other half of his soul… to be met with… nothing. He could feel it. He could feel the truth of it settle into his bones, into his heart… leaving a hole - a black hole - where something should have been, something that breathed life into him, that gave him voice. His chest nearly burst with renewed pain, with understanding, with denial.

"Please don't leave me," Potter choked out. "Please… I can't lose you, too. Please…"

_"Oh, Harry,"_ he whispered soundlessly, and wrapped his arms around the younger man, both of them dissolving into tears, both of them holding on, both of them feeling the loss as the universe tilted, as the stars mourned, as Fawkes once again sang a lament that echoed in the halls of Hogwarts.

A great man had passed. Snape's chest ached with emptiness and loss and shock, but he turned his attention to the young man he held in his arms, and found his own voice, though it sounded different now, to his ears.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I won't leave you."

"I promise," he said more strongly. "I'll be here for you, Po… Harry… I promise..."

"Always."


End file.
